Page 43 of Finding Delaware

“Look, I argued with Maisie, and then Aaron told me to leave. That’s what happened. Happy fucking New Year.”

I’m not going to mention the fact that I called Maisie a cunt. Or that I yelled ‘fuck your church, fuck this house, fuck your family.’

I fucking lost it, okay? After what happened the morning after the pool with Huck...I pretty much spent the entire week of Christmas break high and drunk off my ass.

“So you borrowed your stepbrother’s car,” she prompts, and I can’t hide my flinch.

“Yeah.”

I didn’t borrow Huck’s car—Istoleit with the spare key I took the night I drove him home from the pool. But like the fucking saint he is, he told the cops that I had permission to drive it, probably getting himself into trouble in the process.

“And where did you go after you left?”

Swallowing hard, I stare down at my hands folded on my lap. “To my Dad’s place.”

Biggest mistake of my life. One I’ll regret until the day I die. Absently, I reach up and touch the scar that now lines my face from brow to cheek.

The therapist continues. “Tell me what happened.”

“We fought.”

Understatement. He beat me within inches of my life because I provoked him like a fucking idiot. Poked the sleeping bear, if you will.

“Fought?” She looks at me with a knowing smile. “Not argued?”

Shit.

You got me there, Doc.

“Things got heated,” I admit, shrugging it off, “words were exchanged. I left.”

“And then the accident happened.”

“Yep.”

‘Accident’ isn’t the term I’d use for what happened. I knew full well what I was doing. I just didn’t understand how bad it would fuck everything up.

“You wrapped your stepbrother’s car around a tree, Taylor. Ended up in the hospital for a month. You could have killed someone.”

“No shit, Doc,” I snap irritably, my patience thinner than usual these days. “That's why I’m here, isn’t it?”

I hadn’t even been inside the car. But shifting into neutral and a steep incline had done the trick. It was the only thing I could think of to explain the injuries. But I’d also been drunk, high, concussed, and in massive amounts of pain, so looking back, I hadn’t been in the best state of mind.

“Let’s go over your injuries.” She pulls out a manilla folder and flips it open. “Multiple broken ribs. Ruptured spleen. A head injury.”

Her eyes flick up, studying the scar on my brow. Yeah, none of that was caused by a car accident. Just dear old dad. They had to wire my jaw shut for six weeks, and eating through a straw got old real quick. I’ll forever be thankful for Christian’s mom—that lady is an angel for taking care of me. I broke down in the hospital and finally told my best friend everything about the shit with my father, and I’m pretty sure he told her, which is why she’s been so good to me.

“You had to have been going pretty fast. What was the fight with your father about that affected you so much?”

A harsh, bitter laugh exits my mouth. “That’s the thing, Doc. It doesn’t take much with him. He’s a drug addict with a temper. Just breathing wrong is enough to flip his switch.”

“Is that what you did?” She folds her arms, crossing her legs at the ankles under her desk. “Breathed wrong?”

No.

To be honest, I don’t even remember what started the fight.

I remember leaving the house pissed off at the world, pissed off at myself because Huck wouldn’t talk to me, and that’s all I fucking wanted him to do.

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